Drabbles
by FFF-AGGOT
Summary: More OCxOC. SmokerxHunter. Bunch of one-shots/drabbles. Will probably be Mature eventually.
1. First Kiss

Bartholomew was crouched high up in a tree, watching Frankie. They were playing a game, only Frankie wasn't aware of it. That didn't matter though, because Bartholomew knew, and that's all that was actually important.

Frankie wandered around, looking around the park, trying to figure out where his little Hunter had gone before stopped and leaning against a tree, frowning. He didn't know what Bartholomew was trying to do by disappearing like that, but it was really fucking irritating. "Dammit Bartholomew!" He finally called out. "Where are you?"

Bartholomew quickly scaled down the tree, hovering above Frankie where there was a natural bend in the tree. "Up here!" The Smoker tilted his head back, and gave him a hard stare. Bartholomew was struck by inspiration, and slid further down the tree, wrapping his arms around the trunk, holding himself up.

"How did you- mmmph!" Frankie was cut off by Bartholomew. More so by Bartholomew's mouth. On his. Upside down. Which was gay. But he didn't react. He was too shocked to do anything. The fact that the midget was able to plant one on him as surprising. Frankie never let him get that close before. So all he could do is stare at the bloodstained neck before him.

This was Bartholomew's happy place. His lips pressed against Frankie's. It was wonderful. And great. And amazing. And everything Bartholomew thought it would be. But, it wasn't good to linger too long. Frankie was bound to react violently when he got his bearings, and Bartholomew had to get far away before that happened. So, he reluctantly pulled away, his tongue darting out to lick Frankie's, now bloody, bottom lip and quickly clamored his way back to the top of the tree, hidden among the leaves and branches.

It took Frankie another couple seconds to react. "DAMN FAGGOT." Was his first reaction as he turned, his fists balled. "GET BACK HERE." He roared, darting his two non-oral tongues out, after the escaping Hunter. He missed, and both tongues broke off, leaving him seething and only one more shot. But Bartholomew was out of sight now, and that only served to infuriate Frankie more. "YOU'VE GOT TO COME DOWN SOMETIME, BITCH."

Bartholomew crouched happily on his branch, knowing that Frankie was out of options if he was still yelled. Though, he was right in one regard. He would have to come down sometime. And when he did, it wouldn't be pretty. For now though, he was going to bask in the glow of finally getting to kiss Frankie.

It was a good day.


	2. Clingwrap

Bartholomew was a very clingy Infected.

He wasn't sure why, but he knew that he deserved to be held. He deserved to have affection showered on him at any given moment he wanted. He deserved to be loved.

He knew this; at his very core he knew it was right. But, he rarely got what he rightly deserved. What he knew he'd always had, but had never experienced.

The damn Smoker wasn't giving it to him though. And it pissed Bartholomew off. Enough for him to take off for a few days and hide out wherever he could until the need to touch the other again got to strong. Even if the touch wouldn't be reciprocated, and if the disappearance would only cause a fight between them.

All Bartholomew wanted was a little affection. A God damn hug occasionally would be good enough. Anything to show that he was the special, little Hunter that the weird womanly voice in his head kept telling him he was. But no. All he got were insults and punches and anything else Frankie deemed suitable.

Bastard.

But, despite the anger Bartholomew felt over the lack of affection, he did like Frankie. And he liked that Frankie would put up with his clinging, kinda, and would, on occasion, pull him close, even if it was to show other Infected that he wasn't sharing his toy.

And he liked that when Frankie fell asleep, and Bartholomew would curl up beside him, that he would wrap his arms around Frankie's waist and pretend he was being held back.

Pretend that Frankie liked him for more than a toy, more than a possession.


	3. Tounges

Frankie's tongues were a constant source of agony for Bartholomew.

He didn't have good experiences with them, except maybe a few times that Frankie saved him after he had stumbled over the side of a roof.

Other than that, it was all 'stay still' or 'come over here' or 'I'MA KILL YOU BITCH.'

Nothing that he enjoyed. And Bartholomew didn't care if Frankie liked it or not, because he opinion was SUCK.

Well, he did kinda like it when Frankie would run his tongue over the side of his face, before it wrapped around his neck.

And the way it would slide up the hem of his sweater and across the scarred expanse of his stomach when Frankie would grab a hold of him, wasn't that bad.

Nor was the way he-

No.

No.

_No._

Bartholomew did not like Frankie's tongues. And that was all there was to it.


	4. Crawling

He didn't know why but the way Bartholomew walked really pissed him off.

It was just something about it, and although it didn't effect Frankie directly; hell it probably made things easier since this way the hunter wasn't walking into shit or getting twatted in the face by low hanging branches when they hunted in the park….(even though that would have been funny as fuck), but it was just SOMTHING about the god damn 'crawling on the hands thing' that creeped Frankie out.

It just wasn't normal.

Made Bartholomew look like a dog, or some sort of freaky slinky toy when he went down the stairs, or more accurately when Frankie pushed him down the stupid stairs.

But.

He guessed.

Oh occasion it did have its plus sides.

Like when they walked up tall flights of stairs. When Bartholomew was a few feet in front of him. When the hunters ass was waving from side to side simply because of his crouched posture. When the midgets legs were slightly parted, and then the fact he was having the crawl slower then usual because of the rubble and debry, which meant Frankie could easily reach out, grab him by the back leg, and yank him back towards him in one quick motion and then proceed rut against him like a dog in heat for the next ten minutes because he'd worked him up into such a frenzy with that god awful ass swaying crawling walk he insisted on doing every second of the god damn day.

Yeh.

Then he didn't really mind it all that much.

But there wasn't a hope in hell he'd tell Bartholomew that.


	5. Scents

In a new world where people ran on instincts scents were important.

A scent could distinguish if someone was a friend or a foe.

If someone could be eaten, or if they should be left the hell alone.

And more importantly.

Who belonged to who.

"Quit squirming bitch" Frankie snarled, pressing down on Bartholomew's chest while he rubbed against him, though instead of it being done in lust instead this time it was out of necessity. A spitter had managed to land a direct hit onto Bartholomew's back and while his skin hadn't been melted away (his clothes had taken that role instead) the rancid after goo from the acid was clinging to his flesh making him smell worse than that dead dog he and Frankie found shoved into a bin a few days back.

Bartholomew whined and carried on squirming a little, not liking the way Frankie's clothes were rubbing against his bare flesh making him get carpet, well, jean burn on his legs turning them a light pinkish colour up and along his thighs.

Frankie just snarled and rolled his visible eye, pausing in his actions to lean back and yank down his jeans, leaving him in what looked to be a pair of batman boxers. "There? Happy now faggot?" he asked bluntly before returning to the task at hand, trying to force his scent onto the hunter by pressing flesh against flesh.

Bartholomew smiled and then nodded, pressing against Frankie much like a cat, writhing around with him upon their bed in their underwear, loving the feeling since Frankie was actually TOUCHING him. Not like the ways he normally touched him, like when he grabbed his arm or hit him or even when he fucked him. This was….nicer touching. It was a little rough, but hay everything with Frankie was rough. Apart from when he was sleeping. Then he looked like a kittycat…..in a way. But this touching was the kind of touching Bartholomew liked, mainly because although it wasn't a real hug, Frankie's arms did go around his back together at the same time, and when that happened their faces were pretty close together, and although the moment only lasted a second it was still there, and it made Bartholomew feel all nice and warm and tingly and ohgodhewantedtotouchhim.

"It'd be faster the other way" He said smiling, having ended up perched on Frankie's lap with his back to him, looking up over his shoulder, or at least moving his head to make it seem like he was.

"Other way?...heh, little slut" Frankie said with a smirk, seeing bartholomews smile falter for a second with the nasty words but then quickly come back as he started touching him again, up his sides and thighs, on his shoulders and neck and all over his tummy and lower and lower and ohgodsofuckinglowyesyesyes!

And it was only then, afterwards when they both lay on the bed all sticky and sweaty and smelling of sex did Bartholomew come down from his high, did the fuzzy feeling go and get replaced with that not so fuzzy feeling, when Frankie wouldn't let him snuggle. When he'd punch him in the nose the second he tried to get close. When he'd decide that no, tonight Bartholomew would sleep alone, and to make it worse he'd even let him have the bed while Frankie went downstairs onto the more uncomfortable couch, but in doing so left Bartholomew there upstairs in the big room, in the big bed, completely and utterly alone.

Then he didn't like it as much.

Then he really….really didn't like it.


	6. Teamwork

"Healing!" a man's voice rang our among the gun shots and both Frankie and Bartholomew's heads turned towards the sound and the distinctive scent of antiseptic. It was always easier to pick off the ones which were hurt, when they were too distracted to see what was going on behind them. Frankie stayed up on top of the building, keeping crouched low while the horde swarmed around the five survivors, each one laying into the mass of zombies with shot guns and assault rifles, but all being to transfixed on their own survivor to notice there team mate dropping behind the rest.

While Frankie hid from sight Bartholomew crawled along the ground, his short stature making it hard to pick him out among the commons until he screamed and pounced on the man, claws plunging into his neck while he bit down on his left shoulder dragging him to the floor, hearing the other survivors yell out and shoot haphazardly in his direction, unable to get any closer.

Frankie smirked and saw Bartholomew smile, looking up to where he was hidden and giving him a nod of his head before Frankie shot all three of his tongues out, wrapping around the corpse and hauling it onto the building out of sight, Bartholomew clinging to the body, coming along for the ride and landing beside Frankie.

"Good one bitch" Frankie said, the nearest thing to a compliment having ever come out of the smokers mouth. Bartholomew grinned and shuffled around on the spot like a giddy child before joining Frankie on all fours to feast on their kill.

Hunting was always easier when mixed with teamwork afterall.


	7. Candy

"…what the hell do you have in your mouth?" Frankie stood over Bartholomew's hunched form, prodding the hunter with the tip of his shoe to get his attention while Bartholomew quickly turned his head to the side, smiling, his mouth full to the brim of sticky pink fudge. "I fond eth in fe kishen!" he said excitedly, holding out the bag to Frankie offering him some. The smoker looked at the bag and then frowned, knocking it out of Bartholomew's hand and walking away, leaving bartholomew to eat his candy alone while Frankie went off to do other more meaningful activities, such as sleep or maim something.

You know.

Worth while things.


	8. Swingset

"_A-augh! F-Frankie"_

"_Mmmm shut it bitch just keep rocking"_

"_N-nnyah"_

"_F-fuck, w-we're doing this again next t-time we come here"_

_It had started out as a normal day. In the morning they'd woken up, and after that they'd gone and hunted for a while, and then once that necessity was out of the way they'd gone out to wonder around in the city, little else to do apart from explore or eat after all._

_Oh. Apart from….one thing they could do._

_When they'd reached the park Bartholomew had been a little weary at first, the scent of the slightly burnt rubber on the floor beneath the apparatus hurt his nose and made him sneeze, and the creaking of the swing sets made him think there were people around. But since Frankie wasn't doing anything to suggest they were in danger, he simply followed him into the park and over to the kiddy area where the smoker slumped down upon one of the swings. He held onto the metal chain and smirked, swinging himself forwards, only a little at first but then quickly picking up speed before he eventually jumped off at the peek of his height, landing on the floor a good few meters away. "Your turn faggot" he said to Bartholomew, wanting the hunter to play the game with him._

_Bartholomew cocked his head to the side and climbed up onto the swing, almost falling backwards and then clutching at the chains making that horrible screeching sound until he got his balance back while Frankie looked on, rolling his eyes and folding his arms across his chest. "Hurry the fuck up bitch, haven't got all day!" he warned, anger rising._

_Sensing this Bartholomew quickly started to swing his legs, but he was doing it out of time so instead of going back and forth as Frankie had done, he simply flailed around, wobbling from side to side. _

_Frankie sighed and glanced up at the sky for a split second before walking over to the struggling hunter and grabbing his legs to make him stop. _

"_No. Not like that. Like this" He hefted Bartholomew from the seat before he sat down, lowering the shorter infected onto his lap facing him, instructing him to hold the chains so they ended up with Bartholomew's legs hooked over frankies, their arms linked over one and others so they wouldn't topple back._

_Frankie started to kick his legs building up a small rocking momentum and slowly Bartholomew started to do the same at the opposite time so they rocked faster. Bartholomew smiled, pleased he'd got it right now and that he was doing something Frankie seemed to be happy about, or at least content about. Since frankie wasn't hitting him he guessed it was a plus. _

_He didn't notice at first how Frankie seemed to be getting happier, or how he pulled the hunter closer against him, or the smile upon his face, though when he felt the bulge in frankies jeans and the ands frantically yanking the back of his runners down he got the faintest idea that Frankie wanted something different, that simply swinging was no longer an suitable way to spend their time. _

_Safe to ay by the time there little trip to the park was over the two of them were a lot more tired then they had been when they arrived, and in frankies case, a hell of a lot more smug,_


End file.
